


Months, years, full millenia between

by misbehavin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Sastiel Love Week, Schmoop, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 01:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14093796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbehavin/pseuds/misbehavin
Summary: Months, years, full millenia between kisses.





	Months, years, full millenia between

**Author's Note:**

> I participated a year ago in the SLW and spent all this time trying to decide if I should post what I wrote here on ao3. This isn't all of what I wrote for the week, just three of the prompts/days edited sort-of into one fic. I also added some tiny things. It's schmoopy as hell and i have no regrets,,,,,

Castiel kneels by the bed and watches impatiently as Sam sweats his way out of deep slumber.

It’s the first time Sam opens his eyes in a long time and though his pupils are blown wide in terror, he doesn’t flinch away when Castiel cleans the sweat off his face and tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear, but rather leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering.

His vocal chords still need rest but he forces Castiel’s nickname out in a hoarse whimper.

Cas tries to shush him as Sam’s eyes water, lifting Sam’s hand up to his lips and pressing light kisses to each knuckle as he begs Sam to remember his faith. When none of what he says works, Castiel rests his forehead on Sam’s, holds the boy’s skull with both hands.

“Sam, you are alive,” he says, and it’s almost hysterical. “We are both alive, Sam Winchester.”

“Sahe,” Sam pleads, in Enochian, as if to ask, _prove it._

And so the memory comes back, slowly, because Castiel is scared it might be too much. He wrapped his whole angelic body around Sam and fled. Sam asked if this meant he’d been forgiven and Castiel made a star collapse. Then another. And another. _Don’t ask stupid questions_. A trail of bright dust was left behind as they came back to Earth.

_Do you trust me?_

It’s been months, a year, a full millennia, and no answer.

Sam clings to Castiel’s shoulders while the image fades, and Cas places a gentle kiss between his eyebrows, on the apple of his cheek, easing the pain away.

“Okay,” Sam murmurs, nodding, his whole body shuddering. “Okay, I trust you.” And the way he relaxes at the tender touch of Cas’ mouth on his translate how much.

 

* * *

 

It doesn't sit forgotten between them, whatever those first kisses meant. But the years pass, and they dance around the subject until a lightbulb lights up above Sam's head and he figures some things out. There's nothing grandiose or glorious about it. No life or death situation. No promises they can’t keep.

They’re having some downtime (only a few days, maybe, a week, if they’re lucky), spending the entire day carrying stacks of books around, reorganizing a section of the Bunker's library. Very late at night, when they’re still far from being done, Cas decides to put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and say, “you should rest.”

Sam hums distractedly, too immersed on what he’s reading.

Cas moves his hand to the nape of Sam’s neck, and up to his hair, then. It seems like something so casual, something that has happened a thousand times over, but then Cas gently tugs, and Sam kinda loses it, a little bit.

“Um, Cas?” he asks, the book in front of him already forgotten now.

“Yes?”

“What– What are you doing?”

“You need to rest,” Cas says, ignoring Sam’s question completely, though he doesn’t disentangle his fingers from Sam’s hair. “These books will still be here in the morning.”

“I know,” Sam says. “I don’t really want to go to sleep right now, though.”

“Maybe we could watch some Netflix?”

Sam wrinkles his nose looking up at him, barely manages to hide a grin at how sleepy Cas looks too.

“What are you up to?” he asks, because Castiel isn’t as subtle as he thinks is. Sam figured him out.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Cas says, but he insists on holding Sam’s hand all the way to the bed they’re currently sharing.

That's when it all begins. Or rather, starts over.

 

* * *

 

Giving each other heart-shaped things is not really something they do, for all kinds of reasons. They do give each other gifts whenever possible though, such as small collections of handwritten letters containing things that are often too hard to say aloud, soothing words that declare and describe love, trust, and devotion in the numerous languages they’re both fluent in.

(The letter Cas wrote him a few days ago is inside his shirt's pocket, still guarded there because Sam couldn’t bring himself to put it somewhere else and risk losing it, because he grew particularly attached to the words, because it’s _nice_ to know they’re within reach, a substantial evidence of what they have.)

But it's Valentines, and although they don’t have actual date nights because neither of them dared to call the moments when it’s just the two of them enjoying each other’s company actual dates, here they are, on the same side of the booth in a no-name diner, as they always are, one leaning against the other as they wait for the heart-shaped food they didn't want but had to order, given it was the only option. 

Castiel stares at the life-lines on his hand like he can read his past and not his future and it frustrates him deeply. Sam wonders if Cas will bring up ink poisoning _again_ once he takes the pen in his jacket out and starts doodling on his skin - that's another way they've found to communicate when speaking isn't easy.

Sam reaches for Cas’ hand, and Cas says his name in that warning tone, like he really wants to say something about the ink poisoning but knows it would be a stupid thing to do. First because he’s the one who started with this whole thing anyway, second because it’s not like he, of all people, could get poisoned by ink, of all things.

Sam doesn’t draw a devil’s trap, nor anything in Enochian. Definitely no heart-shapes, too.

The capital letters on the palm of Cas’ hand read:

CUTE

& B A D A S S

& M I NE

Cas lifts his head from Sam’s shoulder so he can gaze at Sam with a bright grin and says nothing until Sam catches on and finally decides to lean down for a long-overdue kiss.

Sam almost says he's sorry, sorry for the wait, sorry for everything, but Cas' tongue is faster, skilled, and it stops Sam from saying anything. Cas holds on tight to Sam's neck, and Sam exhales, tips his head to the side so Cas can kiss him deeper.

Around them, time slows down.


End file.
